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Split Your Darlings

It’s been an eventful week-and-a-half since my last post, both in real life and in Arlam. Usually, my silence on this blog indicates some kind of frantic activity elsewhere, and that’s certainly been the case on this occasion. In point of fact, I’ve been restructuring my entire novel.

Yes, that’s right. One of the indie publishers to whom I pitched A Sea Sought in Song at the Realm Makers conference responded with interest, but said in no uncertain terms that a 650-page novel would be cost-prohibitive to print. This got me to thinking, and I decided I’d better field-test a counter-proposal in the event that length proved the only dealbreaker.

So I thought and thought, and at last apprehended what had eluded me for years: how to split my novel without sacrificing its narrative arc. The problem had always been that the novel’s internal fault lines didn’t translate well into external boundaries. I solved this by making an incision halfway through Part Two. Suddenly, everything fell into place. After a few minor rearrangements, Book One stood complete at 113,000 words—77,000 less than before. This left Book Two—formerly known as the concluding section of Book One—about 80% complete, pending a few additions and subplot elaborations I’m excited to begin integrating. What’s more, I was able to carry this truncation forward into what had once been Book Two, thereby giving rise to Books Three (~50% complete) and Four.

So now instead of two ~200k-word books, I’m looking at four ~100k-word books. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this effectively doubles the series’ profitability potential while halving a publisher’s initial capital investment. As in the case of subdivided pizza, more pieces create the perception of more content.

The old ~200k-word structure is still viable, of course, but in truth I’ve already grown quite fond of this new structure. Though a number of narrative and thematic through-lines had to be postponed, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the way the restructuring emphasizes slightly different ones. I’m especially pleased by this opportunity to further develop my characters in the New Book Two, which has, for the first time, enough space to accommodate such depth.

So yes—if an imposter had claimed authorship of A Sea Sought in Song, I would’ve failed an intellectual property test devised by King Solomon. ;-p

Larger than Life

If you’ve visited A Sea Sought in Song’s cast listing on my website, you’ve seen the quality of Hannah Gunderson’s artwork. But did you realize how huge her portraits are? Me neither! I just received her original sketch of Ilina Lightkeeper, and it’s even larger than life!

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The plan is for each character profile to eventually get its own individual portrait. So check this space frequently for new additions to the cast gallery!

You Can’t Subvert What You Haven’t Built

In case you don’t religiously check my website for updates, I’d like to point out a recent addition to the “True Facts About My Fake World” wing: this explanation of a prevailing in-world historiographic model, complete with illustration.

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Cyclical history is great, because it creates expectations. Expectations are great because they allow a storyteller to direct an audience’s attention. And that’s a level of control which comes in real handy when you need to pull off a slight-of-hand maneuver. The missing card can slip invisibly from the sleeve only when everyone’s transfixed by the twirling top hat.

But in order to subvert expectations, you need to have established some in the first place. And that takes work. The bigger the intended surprise, the more work must be invested in the preliminary setup. Not ostentatiously, of course: the conservation of detail allows genre-savvy readers to spot a head-fake coming. A given expectation must fade into the background, becoming the very air the characters breathe, an unseen context that isn’t questioned.

So yeah. Arlam’s historical cycle has a clockface’s worth of epochs, but the hour-hand’s invisible.

That’s not suspicious at all.

Realm Makers Afterglow

Welp, it’s been a heady five days. The seminars were fascinating, the fellowship scintillating, and the self-promotion alternately awkward and exhilarating. Stumping for Lorehaven was a blast, and it was great to meet those with whom I’d only interacted online; they’re all even better in person. I clocked between three and five hours of sleep per night, so the post-conference crash is proving rather brutal.

Time will tell whether A Sea Sought in Song made a sufficiently-fetching splash. I ended up delivering three very different pitches to three separate publishers: the first felt casual, the second mortifyingly stilted, and the third exultant. But in each case the initial reaction was positive, so I’m cautiously optimistic about the novel’s prospects.

That’s all for now. I’ll just leave you with a pic of me hangin’ with John Robinson, aka the inimitable Kerry Nietz of DarkTrench and Amish Vampires in Space fame.

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